Set Straight
by zipple
Summary: Ginny sends Harry to Arthur for an 'attitude adjustment'.
1. 57 Holly Berry Road

Disclaimer 1: I own these characters. They are 100% mine. However they do happen to resemble the same names and histories of popular copyrighted characters, the owners of which employ big scary lawyers.

Disclaimer 2: This story contains harsh but somewhat consensual corporal punishment between two adults. If that is a problem, feel free to use the back button.

Disclaimer 3: No smut. Sorry.

Across the street from 57 Holly Berry Rd, a yellow cat pawed curiously at a discarded wrapper. It sniffed the paper and gave an experimental lick. The cat reared its head back and gagged. The cat hadn't eaten in days but it was not hungry enough to continue eating whatever had been left too long by the side of the road.

Licking its paw to rid itself of the taste, its ears perked to the sound of human voices from the house on the other side. It was late so the rest street was silent and dark. The yellow cat, now thinking of the scent that seemed faintly like roasted chicken, jumped neatly over the puddle and made its way to the small garden fence. 57 Holly Berry Rd was awake, maybe willing to offer a poor, tired feline a scrap.

The cat had just wriggled its way under the fence when the house seemed to erupt. The voices, indistinct from a distance, were clearly fighting. The cat crouched down, wondering if it was worth attempting to beg for food. Most likely they would never hear the meowing or would not be too pleased to find a stray on their doorstep. However, some of the best meals the cat had received was from arguing humans that were too distracted to pay attention to the food they tossed to such creatures.

It was the baby's piercing cry that ended the cat's pursuit. The woman screamed, the man yelled and the lights turned on from one end of the house to the upstairs. The cat bolted. The discarded food wrapper would have to suffice for the night.

Inside 57 Holly Berry Rd, Ginny was ready to snap. The Potter home seemed to consist of nothing but noise and mess lately. James had not slept for the past four nights, so neither had his parents. Harry had spent the night tossing and turning, trying to half-suffocate himself with a pillow to block out the noise or pass out from the lack of oxygen- whichever came first. Ginny tried everything short of dosing her child with whiskey to get him to sleep, but he still wailed.

"Can't you keep that kid quiet?" Harry demanded as he chased after his wife. Ginny stomped up the steps. It was no use trying to keep quiet since James was going to wake the neighborhood anyway.

"If you have any ideas, be my guest!" she yelled back, not bothering to turn her head. "He's a baby, Harry, not a music box or a wireless!"

"But he's been crying for a week straight!"

"Four nights. Don't exaggerate." Ginny entered the nursery. James didn't seem to notice. His face glowed an angry red, his little hands balled into fists as he wailed. Ginny picked up her screaming son, checked his nappy and his forehead, which both seemed normal. She lifted one side of her night shirt and offered her breast, but James refused to feed.

Harry leaned on the doorway, glowering. "I have to work tomorrow," he snarled. "Is he going to do this all bloody night?"

Ginny turned to him, matching glower for glower. "I don't know, Harry. Why don't you ask him?" She made to hand James to Harry, but James wailed harder. "I have to work too you know," Ginny said as she placed James over her shoulder to attempt a burp.

"No, you don't!" Harry's voice rose. "We've been over this!"

"Keep your voice down!" Ginny hissed.

"Keep my voice down? He's the one screaming all the time!" Harry waved a hand at James who now was screaming so loud that it was impossible to be heard without yelling. "Maybe he wouldn't scream so much if you weren't so busy keeping a job we don't bloody need!"

"'We'? It's my job, Harry! Not yours!"

"You know what I mean!" Harry yelled. "Between my inheritance, my salary-"

"Funny how my savings from Quidditch never make it into this list, isn't it?"

"-and your savings from Quidditch," Harry added, "we have enough for you to quit for a few years!"

"A few years?!" Ginny set James down, deciding that he was going to cry regardless if her arm went numb. Ginny strode over to Harry and jabbed a finger at his chest. "I AM NOT my mother! I AM NOT a bloody housewife! I WILL NOT lay on my back and spend my life having your children all the fucking time!"

"I never said-"

"And another thing, Harry James Potter, I make more as a reporter for the Prophet than you do as an Auror! So why doesn't the famous Harry fucking Potter quit his job and take care of the baby for once?!"

Harry lead her out to the hall, huffing. Ginny wrestled her arm away. Harry turned to her, revealing the dark, tired eyes that haunted him since James came home from St Mungo's. "You know I'm working my way up," he growled. "It's a civil service job and I've still got a lot of ranks to get through before I make top-"

"Spare me," Ginny said flatly. She crossed her arms over her chest. "Next you'll be on about how they should move you on faster because you defeated Voldemort, because you faced Death Eaters before your bollocks dropped, how it was all you, you, YOU!"

Harry's face drooped, color hit his cheeks. The gobsmacked expression quickly twisted into sheer rage. "You know that I handled way more advanced magic-"

"No!" Ginny shouted. "Everyone had to push you through all your moping and whining to get you to do anything other than act like a self-centered prat! If it wasn't for Hermione you never even would have gotten past year one! Nevermind Dumbledore or my parents! No one lead me on by the hand! I WORKED for my name!"

"Mrs Harry Potter? Oh, you sure worked hard for that!" Harry spat.

The urge to slap Harry's face was so terrific that Ginny felt her arm tingle. The saving grace, why Harry wasn't having to scoop his glasses from the floor, was James's well-timed wail. Ginny gave Harry a sneer, stomped back into the nursery and left Harry standing outside. She heard no movements out in the hall, but she refused to look back to she if Harry was still there, fuming.

Another moment passed and she heard him storm down the hall, slamming their bedroom door behind him.

It wasn't until an hour later that James finally cried himself out. Ginny, exhausted and ears ringing, wandered down to the kitchen for a cup of tea and a plate of biscuits. She glanced at the clock. It was nearly midnight.

She was halfway through her tea and article she was editing when she heard a shuffle at the door. She refused to look up. Sometimes it worked. Harry could be an oblivious prat, but there was still a chance that he would simply walk off and give her peace or apologize like a reasonable man.

Harry stood for a moment, watching Ginny make corrections with a red-inked quill "Put that away," Harry said. "You can work on it after you get some sleep."

"It's overdue as it is," Ginny said, not bothering to look up. "I have to get this done."

"No." Harry sat down across from her. He tugged at the parchment, but Ginny slapped her hand down next to his, keeping it firmly in place. "Let go, Ginny."

"I HAVE to get this done," Ginny said. She pushed Harry's hand away. "I have a deadline."

"Had a deadline," Harry corrected. "You already said it's overdue. Morgan will understand if it's another day late."

"I said I could keep this job and handle the baby. I intend to prove it."

"Why?" Harry asked. Ginny tried to ignore the derisive sneer edging back into his voice. "We have more than enough-"

"It's my job," Ginny said pointedly. "End of discussion."

"End of discussion?" Harry said. Ginny jumped slightly from the unexpected rise in his voice. "You mean I don't have a say in whether my child has a full time mother?" Harry slapped the table with enough force that Ginny's tea cup toppled and spilled onto the article. The shock caused Ginny to cry out in surprise. The noise startled James, who started a fresh fit of crying.

Ginny sobbed with rage, attempting to mop up the article as much as she could in her sleep-deprived state. She blotted the parchment with her nightshirt, but the ink just smeared.

Harry made to grab for the parchment, towel in his hand, but the combination of the tea, the two grabbing for the parchment was too much and it tore a jagged line until the parchment was in two, smudged pieces.

"Oh, Gin," Harry said quietly. Ginny snapped her eyes from the torn parchment in her hands to Harry's face, which had gone from red and angry to sad and pale. "I didn't mean- I-"

"Get out." Her voice was cold with venom.

"But Ginny-"

"OUT!" She waved the parchment at the hall that lead to front door. "NOW!" Her eyes clouded in tears of rage. "I want you out of my sight until you can behave like a grown man!"

Harry stood limp, locking his unblinking glaze with hers. She could imagine what she looked like now, shaking with exhaustion and rage, her front stained from tea and dried baby spit up. James continued to cry, up for a fifth night without stopping.

"Alright," Harry said quietly, resigned. "I'll go kip out on Ron and Hermione's couch then."

"No," Ginny said quietly. She shook her head and Harry glanced at her nervously. "Dad."

Harry's eyes went wide, which would have been comical had there not been so much anger in her blood. Ginny was careful not to use Arthur too often like this, but she was desperate.

"If that's what you want," Harry said after a long pause. His tone was changed now from cautious to borderline plea but Ginny would not be swayed by his mournful look.

Ginny swallowed. "Yes. That's exactly what I want. And I want proof."

Harry walked out the front door without another word.


	2. The Burrow

It was late when Harry Apparated outside The Burrow. The night seemed oddly quiet around him, the foreboding sense that the world was holding its breath in anticipation haunted him. He strode up the walk, taking his time.

"Harry?" The walk flooded with light. Molly was in a patchwork dressing gown, her plump form framed by the faint lights inside. "It's nearly-"

"I know it's late," Harry said meekly. "I'm terribly sorry to disturb you, but Ginny-" . Molly shushed him and took his cloak. Harry let her, even though he felt much safer with more layers. She lead him to the kitchen table, waving an arm at chair.

"Arthur should be home any moment," Molly said after filling the kettle with water and laying out the tea things. "I think I shall go to bed."

"Thank you. Good night," Harry said. He forced himself to sit still has Molly petted his hair fondly. She kept it brief as she always did on these nights and trotted off to bed without a word. Normally she would hug and embrace him, but she never did during these strange, solitary visits of Harry's. He was never sure if it was out of anger from Molly or that she sensed that he didn't want a fuss about the visit. Either way, the less chatting, the better.

Any moment turned into ten, fifteen, a half-hour. Harry sat, staring at the door, leaving the tea things untouched. He wondered if it was too early to come back home, if Ginny would know if he lied or faked it. Maybe she was asleep right now and he could curl into his bed and tell her in the morning 'No darling, it wasn't so bad this time. I'm sorry. He straightened me out. I'm glad that you have the job at the Prophet. I love you.'

It wouldn't do any good. Arthur would hear that Harry had visited and had run off like a coward. Molly knew he had been here, Ginny would surely ask. Besides, she wanted proof. Harry wasn't that good of a liar.

So Harry sat, hands on his thighs and waited.

Fourty-five minutes, an hour-

The distinct 'pop' of Apparation sounded outside. Harry had been nodding off but jumped awake, startled and rose from his chair as he heard the key in the lock. The door opened to expose Arthur, bundled in his traveling robes clutching an armful of parchment rolls. He set the parchment down on the table and made no effort to prevent them from spilling across the surface. He moved to take off his robe and hat and place them carefully on the same peg he always used for the last 30-odd years.

Harry watched carefully, still standing from his chair. Arthur glanced at Harry but did not greet him. He sat down, scooted the parchment to one side. He drew his wand and tapped the tea pot. Instantly steam hissed from the spout.

"Tea?" Arthur asked. It was a stupid question. Harry always accepted the tea. Whether or not he drank it was a different story. Harry nodded mutely so Arthur started to pour. "Room for cream and sugar?" At Harry's minute shake of the head, Arthur poured until the tea almost reached the top. Arthur poured himself a cup, then offered Harry the tin of biscuits. Harry took three, his normal number, and set them on his plate, but did not touch them. Instead, he cupped his hand around the tea, letting the warmth flow into his cold fingers.

"Have a spat with the Mrs?" Arthur asked. Harry nodded with his shoulders hunched but did not elaborate. He eyed Harry's hands closely, looking for signs. Arthur was pleasant enough, but shrewd enough to know that Harry waved his nerves like a banner. It wasn't clear if Harry understood that Arthur based their agenda by Harry's small gestures. If Harry refused cream and sugar, he had no intent of drinking the tea. He wanted it over with and did not want to waste more of the Weasley's ingredients and time then necessary. It meant Harry was in the wrong. Cream, sugar and a chat meant Harry was there strictly on formality.

Arthur eyed Harry's biscuits. Untouched with no move to eat them at all. Harry was afraid his twisting stomach would upend the contents. At a normal tea, Harry would be on the last biscuit, about to grab another three. Harry was not only wrong, but also guilty.

Arthur resisted the urge to abandon his tea and get down to business. It had been a long day, the next day promised to be longer and more difficult, but a small part of Arthur wanted Harry to suffer a little more than usual tonight.

Harry shifted in his chair as he watched Arthur drink his tea. He wondered, briefly, how it would be tonight. When had it evolved into this? He remembered briefly that this tradition started because of his own foolishness, but the details were fuzzy. He thought of Molly, asleep in her bed, or maybe just waiting until Harry was distracted before tiptoeing around the stairs and watching. She could be watching now, but Harry resisted turning to check.

"Alright, then," Arthur said, rising from the table with a sigh and the scrape of the chair. "I have to work tomorrow and I'm sure you do too."

"Yes, sir," Harry squeaked nervously. Harry winced at his own thin, cracked voice.

"Please, call me 'Arthur', or 'Dad'," Arthur said without a smile or malice. It was a pointless suggestion but it needed saying.

"Sorry," Harry muttered, rising from this chair. He bent to clear the table, but Arthur waved his wand at the dishes. The dishes landed gently in the sink.

"Enough stalling," Arthur said with a hint of annoyance. Harry nodded mutely. "Sitting room, I think." Arthur walked off, Harry trailed behind.

With a wave of Arthur's wand, the lights in the sitting room became brighter. After sitting in the dimly lit kitchen for so long, Harry squinted to adjust his eyes. Arthur was already across the room, positioning the cushy easy chair into the center of the worn burgundy carpet.

Harry gulped at Arthur's determination tonight. Pillows were being arranged, blankets and books discarded from their resting places on the cushions. Once Arthur was satisfied with the chair, he rolled up his sleeves, securely fastening them to stay upright. "Come here, Harry," Arthur said with a small gesture. "We'll be quick tonight."

Arthur sat near the edge of the armchair to allow himself room on either side. Harry busied himself with his trouser buttons with trembling hands as he walked towards Arthur, who waited patiently.

Harry approached Arthur's side, holding up his unfastened belt and trousers with one hand. Arthur eased an arm around Harry's waist knowing that any reassuring words he had at this moment would be just a further embarrassment for Harry. Harry may have deserved it, whatever he did, but Arthur wasn't interested in revenge.

He eased Harry down over his thighs, allowing Harry to adjust his long limbs to the uncomfortable position. His legs seemed to be debating folding under or splayed out. Finally, Harry's legs settled. Tucked under: shamed, not defensive. No cream, no sugar. Untouched biscuits. Tucked legs. Trousers down, pants down, no warm-up.

Arthur twisted his fingers into the waistband of Harry's loosened trousers and pants, giving a swift yank. Harry let out a gasp at the cool air and gasped again as Arthur removed his thigh from under Harry, rose his foot and placed it firmly on the other side of Harry's calves. He pulled his foot back, trapping Harry's legs at the knees.

The first blow caused a brief panic. Purely out of reflex Harry tried to buck and escape, but Arthur was stronger than he looked, sharper than anyone would have assumed. It was about after the sixth blow that Harry drooped, fisting his hands in the carpet and preparing himself to ride out the waves.

It was hard for Arthur to punish Harry, especially not knowing at Harry had done to deserve a spanking. Harry was a grown man and practically Arthur's seventh son. Harry had asked for a spanking about a year ago, not knowing what to expect, thinking the Weasley kids had been joking when they said that Mom was all bluster, the real worry was Dad's temper.

For all Fred's joking, the spanking he had received when he tried to make a young Ron take an Unbreakable Vow had horrific tear-stained experience that had the children hiding and Molly screaming for him to stop. Early on in the rows with Percy, it had become so heated that Arthur raised his fist, only to open his palm and pull the punch. The resulting slap was still loud and sharp enough to knock Percy's glasses crooked. The red hand-print that was left behind faded as soon as it was created, but it was the real reason Percy had stayed away so long with a lasting long, icy chill between them.

Arthur was nowhere near the fury he had reached then. If Harry had seriously harmed Ginny it would be Ginny showing up at their home for refuge, not Harry showing up for punishment. If that were the case, the Harry would really have cause to worry. But punishment was what Harry came for, so he had to have done something severe enough wind up over Arthur's thighs.

Arthur sat back and surveyed Harry's upended rear. It was a bright pink color, not too dissimilar then scrubbing your hands in water that was just a tad too hot to bear. Harry was breathing deeply, methodically. His diaphragm contracted against Arthur's legs. Arthur flexed his hand.

The only warning Harry received was a sharp whistle through the air. He braced himself as Arthur started again, doubling height of his swing. The results sent Harry rocking forward toward the carpet. He started to squirm, feeling the sting build, his skin itching and never settling right as the blows came.

Arthur's hand started to drift down. Harry's head slammed upwards, a muffled cry came out as a whimper as Arthur's hand fell onto Harry's thighs. Arthur's assault seemed to go on forever as an endless flow of there, not there, shocks and too-small rests between the sharp pains. Arthur never counted in numbers. There never was a set number to an end result, so Arthur's philosophy was to keep up the punishment until the results you wanted were achieved.

No cream, no sugar. Untouched biscuits. Tucked legs. Arthur needed to see tears. He reduced Harry to tears only once since they started this ritual. It was the first time, in fact, and mostly because Harry was completely shocked by the pain the spanking had entailed. He had not been ready for it or the effect that it caused.

No cream, no sugar. Untouched biscuits. Tucked legs. Tears. Rivers of them if that's what it took to get Harry to behave.

By the time Arthur had worked Harry's thighs to a bright pink, Harry had started to kick. One leg had broken free from Arthur's grip, but Arthur made no attempt to trap the leg again. Instead, he worked his way back to Harry's buttocks. The had almost returned to a normal color during Arthur's inattention to them. He began his assault again, allowing heavy blows to fall.

It took several moments for Harry to start swearing. It was not loud enough for Molly to hear, maybe Harry didn't realize that they were perfectly audible to Arthur. Perhaps he wasn't aware he was swearing.

No cream, no sugar. Untouched biscuits. Tucked legs. Harry's hands clawed at the carpet. His head was hung so low that his hair almost brushed the floor.

No cream, no sugar. Untouched biscuits. Tucked legs. Arthur hiked his thigh higher, angling Harry to a more prominent position. His thighs tightened reflectively, his back arched.

When Arthur revisited Harry's thighs, he was met with a heart-breaking howl. Molly certainly would have woken to that sound but she did not come down to investigate. Arthur never bothered to Silence the spankings he gave to Harry. Molly already knew about what was happening and there was no one else in the house. Still, it was loud and mildly over-dramatic, a mimicry of the howl of a werewolf.

Arthur traveled back up Harry's thigh up over his buttocks. Focusing his aim, Arthur drew back and began to pound a rhythm onto one cheek, then switched to the other when Harry's struggles became too much. Arthur, in both relief for himself as much as Harry, switched to the other cheek. Arthur delivered one final wallop to each thigh and ended a half dozen on each cheek.

Harry lay bent and wheezing. His breathing was hoarse from screaming, clogged from embarrassment and tears. Arthur bent forward and nudged Harry's chin to face him. Tears dripped from Harry's nose, his glasses had fallen off and the even completely escaped Arthur's attention.

"Ok, Harry. Up you go," Arthur said after a long moment. Harry placed both hands on the floor to push himself upright. Arthur grabbed an elbow and helped him to his feet. It took a moment for Harry to right himself. Arthur averted his gaze to give Harry the privacy to bring up his trousers. Trousers fastened, Harry plucked his glasses from the floor and replaced them on their usual perch of his nose. His other hand rubbed his backside. "Go wash up, then home to Ginny."

Harry nodded and sniffed miserably. He gingerly padded his way up the stairs to the loo. Arthur lingered behind, righting the chair back to its normal spot by the window. Arthur had made it to the foot of the stairs Harry when met him halfway down.

The expression on Harry's face struck Arthur as young. Harry held onto the front of his trousers and bit his lip fitfully. Arthur was about to bid Harry 'good night', not up for further discussion but Harry did not move aside to let him pass.

"I-" Harry started. His hands twisted harder on his trousers. Arthur raised an eyebrow and waited. "I don't think we're done," Harry finally said. Arthur blinked but Harry cut through before Arthur could speak. "She wants proof."

Arthur's mouth closed shut. He searched Harry's expression, looking for any sign of a joke, but there was no sign to indicate that Harry was anything other than petrified. Arthur rubbed his hand over his eyes. "Let's have a look then," he found himself saying. Harry turned on the stair and lowered his trousers.

The bright candy-apple red was already beginning to fade to a mauve, but the obvious signs of the sound spanking where still there. Tiny fingertip bruises lined Harry's cheeks, it was slightly more swollen than normal. Harry would have a hard time sitting for at least half a day and would be uncomfortable for a day after. The visual evidence would most certainly last for two days. However Arthur did not have the heart to point this out.

No cream, no sugar. Untouched biscuits. Tucked legs. Harry came for atonement.

"What do you suggest?" Arthur asked. Mentally, he tallied the time it would take to appease Harry and how much sleep he was losing. Harry tugged his trousers back on and turned to face Arthur again. He studied his shoes, saying nothing. Arthur sighed and made his way back to the kitchen. Harry trailed behind but stopped at the foot of the stairs as he watched Arthur reach for a knife on the counter.

Panic flooded Harry's mind as Arthur walked back to him holding the knife. He fought the urge to dash off, but felt a surge of relief as Arthur twisted the blade until the handle was offered to Harry.

The relief was short lived. "There's a tree out back," Arthur said, as Harry took the handle. "Cut off a branch and bring it to the sitting room."

Arthur hoped that for once in Harry's life that he would back down from a challenge, which was the stupidest thing Arthur had hoped for all evening. Instead Harry studied the knife in his hands, set his jaw and marched himself to the back garden. Arthur went back to the sitting room, but did not have long to wait. Harry returned with the knife and branch clutched in one fist. He offered them both to Arthur.

Arthur took them and studied the branch thoughtfully. It was long and springy. Arthur gave an experimental swish in the air, feeling the weight and the aim. He changed his grip on the branch, holding the knife blade to the notches and began to whittle off the sparse twigs and bumps.

Harry stood silently and watched as Arthur prepared the switch. Cleaned of all debris, Arthur gave another experimental swish through the air. He repeated the action three times before nodding to himself.

"Now, Harry-," Arthur turned. "I-" He had been about to direct Harry to stand at the armchair in the sitting room, but the room was empty. "Harry?" Arthur called. He half-hoped that Harry had left, but then he heard a muffled sound.

"In here!" Harry's voice came from the kitchen. Arthur walked in to find Harry bent over the table with his trousers and pants pooled at his ankles, chest and stomach flattened against the broad wood, his hands gripped the edges. "I've never had a- a-"

"Switch," Arthur supplied for him.

"A switch," Harry said. His legs flexed nervously as Arthur approached. "I wasn't sure I could-"

"Get up," Arthur interrupted.

"But-"

"Now." Arthur's voice had lost all familiar congeniality. Harry lifted himself from the table, cupped his hands over his groin and turned to face his father-in-law. "Pull up your trousers and sit." Arthur set down the switch as Harry did as he was instructed. Harry eased himself into the stiff, wooden chair but did not ask questions. Arthur perched himself on the edge of the table and stared down at the man below him.

Arthur never approved of legilimency. It was too close to dark magic in Arthur's opinion so he never bothered to try to learn. Sometimes he did wish he had the power to read minds. It would certainly quiet the flow of horrible thoughts that wandered around his head. Harry's eyes were large underneath the magnification of his glasses. Arthur tried to read them, hoping to find some answer rather than expectation and fear without having to ask, but it was useless.

"It's none of my business," Arthur said calmly. "But I need to know. Have you hurt Ginny in any way?"

"What?" Harry asked.

"Have you hit her or James? Threatened her? Cheated on her?"

"No!" Harry said. His eyes had gone wide. "I'd never-"

"A grown man doesn't get sentenced to his father-in-law's house for a spanking for a laugh," Arthur said. "So before I decide that you're lying to me and that I have to report you, I'm going to have to know why you've shown up for the third time in two months and are now asking me to add an implement." Arthur watched as his words sunk into Harry's brain. Arthur had never asked, not once, for an explanation. "I'm waiting."

Harry looked briefly at the switch on the table. If Harry had really done something unforgivable, a simple spanking would be the last of his worries.

Squaring his jaw, Harry looked directly into Arthur's eyes and told him the events of the evening. Harry had come home from a hard day at the Ministry after personally receiving a series of howlers from a group of muggle-baiters that were screaming that their leader had been wrongfully arrested and imprisoned in Azkaban. He had tripped over a misplaced ottoman, hurt his knee in the effort to catch himself from falling and found that supper had been burned. On top of things, Ginny had been in a foul temper and Harry had not been in no mood to humor her. Things had escalated until James was screaming at the top of his lungs. The argument about Ginny's job and the torn parchment had landed Harry at doorstep of the Burrow, so that was were he ended his story.

Arthur studied Harry quietly as he spoke, gauging him for any signs of deceit. Harry twisted nervously in his seat.

"I have a friend at St Mungo's," Arthur said after a long pause. "She specializes in marriage counseling. I'll make an appointment for you. I'll be expecting a report back telling me that you and Ginny have attended. That's not a request," Arthur added as Harry opened his mouth to protest. "And while you're there, have James examined. His excessive crying may be an indication of a bigger problem. Now then-"

Arthur climbed off the edge of the table to made his way to the bookshelf that lined the kitchen wall. He selected a book, found the page he was looking for and set it in front of Harry. The well-worn page contained a potion recipe. "In the meantime, try this. It's a quick, easy brew, mild enough for an infant and should give you a break from the crying."

Harry pulled the book toward him, examining the recipe. It seemed simple enough.

"I want something understood, Harry," Arthur said. "I'm happy to help you in any way I can, but this has got to stop." Harry looked up at him and nodded. "I won't always be around to do this for you and this isn't an easy fix. It's not healthy and you need to find some other way of resolving your problems. Now, if Ginny says she needs to keep her job, then she keeps her job. She's always been independent and if that's not something you can learn to love about her then you need to learn to respect it. And you will do well to remember that you're not the only one suffering in your own home. It will be better for you and your family if you take on some of the responsibility. If that's too much of a problem for you, then you will find yourself a very lonely man with very expensive support payments. Are we clear?" Harry nodded. "Good." Arthur grabbed the book and placed it under the table. He then reached for the switch. "Stand up. Bare bum. Hands on the table."

When Harry was in position, Arthur circled to line the switch to Harry's rear and tapped it thoughtfully in light, stinging strokes that caused Harry to twitch. Harry bent his head and locked his arms. His nape was already damp with sweat.

The swish of the first full stroke caught both men off guard. Harry pitched forward and swore. One knee buckled but he quickly righted himself back into position. The second stroke earned another curse, louder than the first. Twin lines rose on Harry's skin, white then a sharper red. Arthur gave a third stroke and Harry shifted almost upright. Arthur reached out and grabbed Harry's hips, pulling him back into position until his rear was prominently stuck out and tight.

The next stroke cut across Harry's juncture between the tops of his thighs to the base of his buttocks. Harry cried out in pain, his arms shook with the force of trying to stay upright. Arthur paused to allow Harry a chance to breathe. "How many are you going to do?" Harry asked tentatively.

"Well, that depends on you, doesn't it?" Arthur said. "You asked for more, so I guess we continue until you feel you have gotten everything you deserve." Arthur lined up the next stroke and pressed the wood to Harry's abused flesh.

"So if I told you to continue until I bleed, you'd do it?" Harry asked.

"I doubt you'd want to go that far," Arthur said. He took the opportunity to deliver another stroke. Harry danced up on his toes and hissed. "But yes, I would." The next stroke cut into Harry's upper thigh, completely by mistake. Harry stood bolt upright and reached back to clutch the line of fire burning into his rear.

"Don't want blood," Harry said. Arthur placed a gentle hand between his shoulders and urged him back down.

"Well," Arthur said, stepping back to align the switch. "Tell me when you've had enough." Harry nodded without being asked.

The next few moments passed with barely a sound except the swish and crack of the switch and small, choked gasps. Arthur watched in fascination as the skinny buttocks became crossed with thin lines. Eventually Harry's arms failed him completely and Harry let his weight rest against his shoulders, his hands gripped the sides of the table to a desperate effort to keep from reaching back to cover himself.

Arthur had never used a switch before, but he imagined that it wouldn't take too long to make Harry bleed if they kept it up much longer. Every stroke now was joined with a curse, occasionally a sob. But Harry did not tell him to stop. No cream, no sugar. Untouched biscuits. Tucked legs. More, she needed proof.

Arthur delivered a hard stroke that wrapped around Harry's hip, leaving a harsh bruise. That would be proof for Ginny. The next stroke Arthur counted for James, because no baby could be expected to sleep in a house full of anger. He landed a stroke at the tops of Harry's thighs intentionally, which more than paid for the lack of sleep Arthur would certainly be feeling tomorrow. The next was for Molly, who did not need the extra stress of worrying about her daughter's marriage and young family.

Arthur landed two more strokes before Harry cried a half-choked "STOP!" The switch was in mid-swing, too close for Arthur to stop in time. He tried to pull the stroke, but the switch still cut into Harry's flesh.

"Sorry," Arthur said.

Harry did not seem to hear him. He was fully flush on the table now. His face rested on his arm, his back shaking in great, heaving waves.

Arthur took a step back and surveyed the damage. He had not drawn blood, but it was easy to see where he had come close. Dark red marks appeared where the tip of the switch had hit hardest. Harry's buttocks was a mess of red, angry lines. Most were nearly parallel, some crossed over one another like hash marks.

Harry was in no shape to cover himself, so Arthur did it for him. He eased the pants and trousers up over Harry's thin legs, careful to avoid his searing rear. Harry lifted his hips away from the table to allow Arthur to drape the waistband over his hips, but there was no attempt to draw up the fly or handle the trouser button.

Harry took forever to stop crying. It almost seemed a parody of his infant son. He pictured the two of them together in cribs and nappies, howling and wailing like banshees. Two ragged heads of hair perched on top of two red faces, one of which was comically too large and sporting glasses. If was almost comical if it Harry didn't let the idea cross his mind that Ginny would possibly pay him more attention if it wasn't for James. Less time, less sleep. More arguments. More-

It was pathetic, being jealous of an infant. Harry was excited when he heard that Ginny was pregnant, he loved his growing family but he missed drawing the curtains closed and watching Ginny roam naked through the house. He missed making love whenever the mood struck them. He missed taking trips to the shore, seeing a game of Quidditch without having to consider if they would be too tired or having to arrange for a sitter.

Arthur's cough brought Harry back to the present. He had been so absorbed in his own thoughts that he forgot that he was bent over his father-in-law's table.

Harry brought himself up slowly and winced as he felt the effects of the switch. Arthur reached for the potion book and Harry's cloak as Harry fastened his trousers.

"I'm sorry to rush you," Arthur said as he handed Harry his cloak. "But it's very late and we both need to get to bed." Harry looked at the clock. It was no longer late, but very early. "I'll owl you the date and time of your appointment. Give love to Ginny and James for me."

"Thank you, Mr. Weasley," Harry said as he accepted the potion book. "I mean it. Thanks. Really."

Arthur smiled kindly at him, clapping a hand to Harry's shoulder. "I know." Arthur pulled Harry into an awkward hug. Harry wanted to squirm but forced himself to stay still. A moment later he stood in the garden clutching the book, closed his eyes and concentrated on 57 Holly Berry Rd, somehow feeling lighter than he had felt in months.


	3. Return to 57 Holly Berry Road

Ginny woke late. The article she had been working on was not due until four o'clock, but Ginny had to piece it together on fresh parchment and finish her revisions.

James had been crying on and off throughout the night. She was only able to catch brief moments of rest between tending to her son and listening for Harry. Sometimes Harry would return immediately after a trip to the Burrow, but most nights he was out for several hours. Once he was out overnight roaming the streets of London. Ginny had listened for as long and she could, but sleep had won out.

Ginny wrapped herself in her dressing gown and padded down the hall to the nursery. She watched James sleeping peacefully, then wandered down the steps to the kitchen.

The scent of coffee greeted her before the sight of Harry's tousled hair registered in her mind. Harry was stooped over the breakfast counter, thoughtfully jotting on a piece of parchment. A cauldron perked happy on the far end of the table alongside familiar book. Harry reached for his mug and took a sip. He lifted his eyes and saw Ginny in the doorway.

"Hey," Harry said with a faint smile on his lips. Harry carried his mug with him and gave Ginny a quick peck on the forehead. "Did you get any sleep last night?"

"Some," Ginny replied. "You?"

"No," Harry said. "I took some pepper-up potion, though. Come sit down, I made breakfast."

Ginny gingerly took a seat at the table. She glanced at the cauldron. She took a whiff in the air, feeling warmth pool in her stomach at the almost-forgotten scent of chamomile and lemons mingled with the smell of batter and fried meat. Harry produced a plate of over-cooked pancakes and bacon and set it in front of her. He turned to tend to the tea kettle and Ginny grabbed for the syrup and drenched the lot. Harry was a lousy cook, but the break from cooking made Ginny ravenous.

Harry brought her tea with cream and sugar. "Aren't you going to eat?" Ginny asked as Harry collected the parchment he was working on and joined her at the table. Not sitting, Ginny noticed.

"Already ate," Harry replied.

"You finished off the chicken then?"

"No," Harry said. His eyes were dark from lack of sleep and too wide thanks to the pepper-up potion. "There wasn't much left of that. But there was a cat in the garden that seemed more than happy to have it."

"Yellow cat? Green eyes?" Ginny laughed for the first time in ages at Harry's nod. "I fed some to that cat last night. That's why there was so little left."

Harry chuckled back, letting his eyes crinkle.

"What's this then?" Ginny waved her fork at the cauldron.

"Oh. It's a potion for James to help him sleep. Your dad lent me a book on baby care. He thought it might help. He uh- also wants us to visit a friend of his at St Mungo's." Ginny made a questioning noise. "A counselor. He'll let us know when she's available. James can have a check-up while we're there."

Ginny took a sip of tea but didn't reply. She didn't argue either, which was encouraging.

"I've been going over our finances and I think-" Harry handed Ginny a scrape of parchment filled with numbers. "We can hire a nanny part time, or full time if you want."

"But our savings. We discussed-"

Harry pointed to a row of figured scribbled off to the side. "I figure we won't have to dip into savings too much if I sell off some of my season passes to the Canons."

Ginny blinked at the numbers in front of her. She had brought up the idea of hiring a nanny before, but Harry had protested at the expense though secretly Ginny suspected it had more to do with Harry's issues with losing his own mother. The sudden change of heart was-

"If you're finished with breakfast, why don't you go back up to bed?"

Ginny took a sip of tea as Harry cleared her plate. "I can't. I have to re-write the article and-" Her words stopped dead as the second parchment slipped into view under her nose. Her article was completely re-written in Harry's jumbled scrawl, corrections and all.

"I think I got it right," Harry said. "Why don't you look over this and make sure before I owl it in for you."

"This must have taken you a hours," Ginny said as she scanned the article. She glanced at the counter Harry had been working at and saw the torn parchment patched together roughly with spello-tape. Harry had copied the article perfectly despite the mess of inky fingerprints. "It's perfect."

"Ok," Harry said. He left the parchment out to finish drying. "Bed," Harry repeated, helping Ginny out of her chair.

"But don't you have to get ready for work?"

"I fire-called Rabbins," he replied. "They'll get along without me until Monday." He kissed the top of Ginny's hair. "Now that your article is done, we can drop James at your mother's house for a couple of days, catch up on sleep and maybe go to supper."

"Sounds, er, good."

"I'll finish up here," Harry said. He pulled away from Ginny to tend to the cauldron.

Ginny stood silently and watched as Harry carefully poured the cooling potion into a series of small, crystal vials. She always knew the phrase 'too good to be true' but this was the first time she had seen it in action. She watched Harry closely, thinking hard about the change in attitude from Harry.

"What did he do?" Ginny asked, glancing down at Harry's lower half.

Harry paused with the final vial in his hand and looked at Ginny. A faint blush appeared on his cheek. "Nothing more than I asked him to do," Harry replied. "Do you want to see?" His hand gestured to his trouser button. Ginny shook her head. "You said you wanted proof."

Suddenly the thought of seeing the physical evidence of the pain she had required him to endure seemed too much to bear. "I think I've seen enough," Ginny said. Harry's hand moved from his trouser button and unconsciously rubbed the side of his bum.

It was later, almost noon when Ginny woke again. She found Harry laying next to her on his stomach, snoring deeply into the crook of his arm.

Harry was a light sleeper normally, even the slightest shift in the mattress usually resulted into a blurry jumble of drowsy moans and occasional mumblings, but Harry remained dead to the world even when Ginny gently nudged his shoulder.

In a brief moment of daring, Ginny slowly peeled back the blankets, layer by layer uncovering Harry down to his baggy pajama bottoms. Ever so gently, she peered at the waistband, then accidentally snapped the elastic with a gasp of surprise. Harry stirred but did not wake.

Ginny climbed out of bed and went to the bathroom cupboard. She rummaged for a small jar containing the ointment meant for diaper rash. Ginny came back to the bed. Harry had not moved.

She uncapped the jar and laid it open on the nightstand in easy reach. She carefully pulled down Harry's pajama bottoms, scooped the ointment into her hands and smoothed it over the bruised, red skin. The ointment, as promised, absorbed quickly. Within seconds, the majority of the redness had faded, the welts less prominent. Ginny felt the skin, less warm and rough than it had been before the treatment.

Ginny eased the pajama bottoms back in place. Harry shifted his hips and Ginny glanced at his face. He was still sleeping but he had moved his face from the crook of his arm to expose a small, blissful smile.

She crawled back under the covers and nuzzled closer to Harry, placing her arm over his, her breasts pressed against his side.

"Thank you."


End file.
